He reached the booth. ‘What is it?’
She handed him her phone, words not coming.
He quickly flicked through it. ‘Yep. It’s pretty bad.’
There was a picture of them descending in the skylift. Hand in hand. Another showed them framed in the giant picture window of the penthouse. That kiss. Even from the distance the heat was unmistakable. It must have been taken from the neighbouring hotel roof! And it was in a stream of other pictures showing the raid, the police, the girls being arrested, others leaving the hotel.
‘Thank God there are no pictures of us at the actual party. That would have been far worse.’ He handed her back her phone. ‘That’s what my PA’s checking out right now. And as far as I can tell my boys—and the company name—are out of it. So that’s something at least.’
‘And there’s only those photos—not any of us with anyone or doing anything? So no need to worry?’ She kept flicking through the media pages.
‘Georgia—we’re alone in a lift and in the penthouse, looking about ten seconds away from ripping each other’s clothes off. One floor above that party. We’re in Dubai. I’m a name out here and you’re a beauty. Face it: we’re news.’
She looked up with dawning realisation of the conclusions that would be drawn by the simple fact of them being in a hotel room together.
‘You know the rules about sex outside of marriage. So we have to have the same story. We were there together—no denying that. And that means we have to talk about what’s next.’
He swung down into the seat opposite, the thick padding of the booth surrounding them, a flickering candle illuminating the quirk of his nose, the proud jut of his cheekbones, the determination of his mouth.
‘I think we’re going to have to say we were—or rather we are—together...a couple.’
‘Why can’t we just tell the truth? That we were given bad information and turned up at what we thought was a genuine party?’
‘We were in an empty penthouse for an hour. We left together. They’ll probably have pictures of us walking through the lobby holding hands. Do you want them to think we met there? Because I don’t. Remember what’s acceptable here and what’s not. Mostly Emiratis turn a blind eye, but for some reason this party has attracted a lot of attention. Media attention. And I’m about to get into business bed with one of the most morally upstanding men in the whole of the Arab world. He won’t want to be dealing with a guy who’s all over the media for having sex outside of marriage or being at a sleazy party.’
‘And you think that there’s absolutely no way we can bluff it out? I just hate the idea of lying about anything.’
He steadied his stare on her. She lifted her glass to her mouth but he reached out, took it from her hands and placed it down. Took her two hands into his and held them.
‘We can’t say we met at a brothel, Georgia. So we have to be a couple that strayed into the wrong area. And if we are a couple exiting a hotel room we have to be married. My next venture is with Sheikh Salim. I’m due to meet with him on Sunday. Talks are at a critical point. And my face popping up in the media is not going to smooth things unless I’ve got an answer for every question. He’ll have expectations.’
‘You mean you want me to pretend to be your wife? Just so he’ll think you’re okay?’
‘I mean I want you to be my wife. No pretence.’
His words sat between them. Impenetrable as marble. She couldn’t process them. She’d been sure she couldn’t be any more shocked after what she’d seen tonight. But he had just said something that blasted away another layer of her normal world.
‘You heard me. I need to have an explanation for being in a hotel room with a beautiful woman in the middle of a Friday evening for when I meet with the Sheikh the day after tomorrow. I won’t risk his judgement, Georgia. He would view it as complete disrespect—and I don’t make a habit of disrespecting my business partners. Not when the stakes are as high as this.’
‘But he’ll see right through it. He... You’ve obviously met him before, but you’ve never mentioned me or said anything about having a wife. Why on earth would he believe that you’re married? And, really? It would make that much difference to him?’
Danny looked to the side, to the waiter who had just appeared to top up their water. His patience rolled in waves. He sat back as bowls of uneaten snacks were removed and replaced. She watched him. He was completely composed. There was no trace of mirth playing at the corners of that mouth. His eyes were utterly, solidly focussed. He meant every word.
‘You mean it, don’t you? You actually think you need to do this to pull it off?’
‘There’s no question. You don’t try to outsmart Sheikh Salim. He’ll be happy knowing we’re married and the rest he’ll let slide. The only thing to be discussed is how quickly we can get it done.’
His phone beeped. He pulled it out. He listened. Checked his watch.
‘That could work.’
He listened again. She could hear a voice talking rapidly. He nodded.
‘Tell her I owe her. I’ll wait to hear from you.’
The phone was clicked off again, but this time put on the table in front of them.
‘It’s sorted. We can go to the Irish Embassy in Abu Dhabi.’ He looked at her intently. ‘I’ll need you to sign some papers and I’ll sort out a fee for you. And I suppose we’ve got time to go shopping for a ring and a dress.’
‘A fee?’ He was going to pay her for this crazy idea?
He checked his watch again and she was suddenly struck by how expensive it was. He wore a solid gold watch. He drove a super fast car. He generated power and he exuded control. He was the Dubai dream and he wasn’t going to let a silly thing like the accusation of sex out of wedlock get in his way. She was an adjunct to his plan. That was it.
She suddenly thought of Babs. What on earth would she tell her sister? That she’d gone to a singles party and wound up married? Babs—who’d thought that even her engagement to Nick after twelve months was ridiculously quick. What would she say to this?
She shook her head. It was nasty. It was duplicitous. It was about saving face and making money—not about love. Marriage was about love. It was the last fairytale she still clung on to.
‘I don’t want to get involved in this. I don’t think things are going to be as bad as you say, and even if they are doing something as crazy as this is totally out of the question. I can’t—I couldn’t do it.’
He put down the glass of water he’d been drinking from. Very, very carefully. He lasered her a stare, then spoke so softly she could hardly hear him.
‘I know how you feel, Georgia. Marriage is hugely important. And when the right person comes along for you this—what we’re about to do—will be nothing like it—no comparison.’
He lifted one of her hands.
‘Sometimes we need to do things that push our normal boundaries. But you know this is going to solve every one of your problems in one fell swoop.’ He nodded at her. ‘No one will get hurt. Everyone will get what they want—what they need.’
She stared at her pale fingers engulfed in his hand. Stared at where Nick’s ring had sat for the three months she had stupidly, proudly worn it. A sham. A dream that had shattered like cheap plate glass. She’d sworn when she’d taken that ring off that next time—if she was lucky enough to have a next time—it would be a ring from a man with a true heart, who placed more faith in love than looks, or money.
‘B
ut there’s no integrity in this. It would be a lie.’
She couldn’t do it. No matter what he offered her. The one thing she had wanted her whole life was something she’d never known—a husband, a father to her children, a loving, truthful lifelong bond.
‘It would be a shield, Georgia.’ He laced his fingers through hers. ‘A temporary, necessary shield.’
She shook her head. ‘Marriage is far too important to be described as temporary—or as a shield.’
‘Okay...’
Still he spoke softly, calmly. His phone buzzed. Her eyes landed on it. But he ignored it.
‘Georgia.’
Her eyes switched straight back to his.
‘I never intended to get married. In the real sense of the word. I still don’t. And though that might make me sound like the total opposite of you I think it makes me more like you. It’s a big deal. To me. To you. The only difference is that I don’t think I’m the type for it. Or maybe I don’t think there’s a woman out there who’ll convince me to trade what I’ve got now for something totally different.’
‘Like monogamy?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t tell anyone lies.’
‘But this would be lying.’
‘Georgia, there’s more than my professional pride riding on this. I’m not going to go into it all now, but the stakes here are Burj-high. So you can call it lies. But I’m telling you that sometimes you have to fall on your sword for a bigger win.’
‘It’s always better to be truthful,’ she stated simply.
She had to believe that or she had nothing. A quiet, scathing voice inside her reminded her that maybe her own engagement hadn’t been entirely truthful, but she buried the thought as quickly as it surfaced.
‘In this case it’s more about respect.’
‘Not for your own values, it’s not.’
‘Sheikh Salim’s world is different to ours. I wouldn’t want to offend him in any way. Georgia, it’s easy—we have a ceremony in the Embassy. We visit him. He’ll appreciate that—greatly. I move on with my business. You move back home. Your sister’s sorted. We annul the marriage.’
‘Broken down like that, it sounds like it’s all in a day’s work for you, doesn’t it?’
‘I do what needs doing.’
He cocked one perfect brow, quirked the corner of his perfect mouth. His stubble was thicker now. He looked less polished, more manly. How did anyone ever say no to him?
‘No.’
He didn’t frown. He sat back and smiled. His phone buzzed again. He didn’t even flick it a glance.
‘No is my favourite word. It’s a baseline. Everything moves on from no.’
‘I mean it!’
‘I’m sure you do.’
‘I can’t—I couldn’t pretend to get married. It would be wrong.’
‘You wouldn’t be pretending. You would be actually doing it. The only thing that would be wrong would be imagining it’s a marriage in the conventional sense. It’s not. It’s a means to an end. It’s a problem-solver. It’s a moment in time.’
She felt choked, suddenly. He was impossible. She wanted to refuse and leave, but the way he was selling this was beginning to make sense. What if she could clear Babs’s debts all at once? What if she could actually return home—back to The Tavern and all its comforting memories: its scents of stale beer, its sing-a-long tunes, and the regulars who’d been there almost as long as the mahogany bar top and stained glass windows.
‘I’m not sure. I don’t know. You’re making me doubt myself.’
‘That’s because you know this is the only way.’
He leaned forward—trailed his fingers to her wrist. His thumb traced the faint ridge of her vein. Breath hitched in her throat.
‘You’ve got sky-high values. I could see that the minute I saw you at the party. You’re not a schemer or a plotter. You’re good.’ He laughed—a sad little chuckle. ‘You’ve been dealt a bad hand and you’re here for the duration. But, Georgia...’ he lifted his hand to her face, trailed a soft caress down her cheek ‘...you’ve got a long, long shift here before you repay all that money.’
She almost preened into his touch
‘And that’s only if nothing comes of this media interest. That’s a risk I’m not willing to take.’
His phone buzzed again. This time his eyes flashed to the screen.
‘We need to make a move. Now. If we’re going to pull this off.’ He stood, swung in alongside her. Cupped her face with his hands. ‘Trust me. I won’t hurt you. I’ll take care of you.’
She almost choked on the swollen sob that surged in her throat. They were words that should belong in a real marriage proposal. Words that would have her melting and sobbing a grateful yes. But this was a business marriage and a business deal. A partnership for money and her ticket back home. She’d be giving up her life here—her class of pre-schoolers, her coaching, her friends. She’d be leaving behind the memory of a broken engagement and the loneliness that came with the yawning debts and her duty to Babs.
‘I’ll do it,’ she said.
He smiled. His eyes crinkled and flashed. He dipped his lips and planted a soft, warm kiss on her mouth.
‘Good.’
He kissed her again. Just for a moment. Full on her lips. And her feral cat desire for him sprang up, startling her. What did that add to the mix of this fake marriage? Trouble. A crackle of warning that she’d ignored twice already.
Again she sensed it—it ignited between them like fire licking through dry straw. But although she only felt it around him she was sure that if she was in trouble he would be the one who would keep her out of the flames. And the calling, comforting, soothing energy he radiated made her feel warmth in a very dark, cold place that she’d never even realised existed before.
‘We can talk on the way to the mall. Choose whatever you want for a wardrobe—for the ceremony and the days with Salim.’
He stood, threw down some bills and walked her out to collect the car. He connected the car phone as soon as they were mobile. Issued a steady stream of instructions to his PA.
He wanted all the necessary paperwork ready, gifts for the Embassy staff, a selection of rings and a contract—a pre-nup. Of course. He didn’t even flash her a glance as he rolled out the instructions for what was to be written into it. She couldn’t look at him. Even if this had been a real marriage she would have found that aspect distasteful—that someone would have so little faith or trust in her that they would think she’d ever, in a million years, want what wasn’t hers.
And then he came to her own contract.
‘How much do you want for this, Georgia?’
He twisted to look at her in the silence that was her reply. She couldn’t put a price on this, let alone mouth any words.
‘Okay, I’ll call you back with the final details.’ He clicked off the call. Drove on. Slowed down. The silence continued.
‘Look, I know you’re not the kind of girl to strike bargains like this every day. But I’m more than willing to pay you what you need—and more.’
How could she put a price on this?
He dialled his PA back. ‘A bank transfer—details to follow—made out to Georgia Anne Blue. One million sterling, payable immediately after the ceremony. A further million when the deal with Salim gets signed.’
She said nothing—just looked out of the window at the thousands of cars assembled like shiny sand beetles in the mall car park. People thronged to the do
ors. She’d been before—of course she had—but never with the thought of spending money in the luxury boutiques where she knew they were headed. Not even when she’d visited with Nick.
Two million pounds.
What a difference that could make to their lives. She wasn’t so naive as to think it wouldn’t. It was just such a shame—such an incontrovertible shame—that she had to marry a guy she’d met only hours earlier in a fake wedding to get it.
‘C’mon, Georgia. It’s been a night and a half. There are two shopping hours left, so let’s rip through this place while we still can.’
The businessman edge to his voice had been replaced with charming, lilting tones. Soft, sensual and soothing. He placed a hand on her elbow and helped her out of his car, moved his hands to her shoulders and smiled his cutest smile.
‘Where do you want to start?’
They went to her favourite Italian designer. She’d always felt too self-conscious even to go into the store back on Bond Street in London. Here it was easy—and now it seemed she might leave with a package, rather than her best vintage second-hand market finds in a recycled plastic shopping bag.
He settled himself on a sofa, drank coffee and answered calls. Scoffed fruit and sandwiches. She tried things on. Should she parade for him? Would he even care?
She decided he wouldn’t and hurried her way through weekend-wear and formal. In and out of beautifully cut dresses with exquisite detailing, trousers that fitted her perfectly with light cashmere and silk tops to complement them. A butter-soft leather jacket and jewel-toned wraps. But what was she going to wear to this wedding ceremony? Little skirt suit? White froth?
She tried on a cream dress—the perfect shade for her colouring, utterly feminine with a floaty forties-style hem. Lace cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. A silk swathe round her bust and a lace overlay skirt. Golden and silver threads intertwined in a ribbon belt at the thinnest part of her waist.
Her hair still fell in waves, and even though her make-up was nearly gone and dark circles had formed under her eyes she felt that she looked good.
The Scandal Behind the Wedding Page 5